Page 61 of Mad Duke March

She could feel it through his breeches, she could feel it in his ravaging kiss, in his possessive hands. And she wanted him, too.

But she wanted more than just physical closeness. She craved another kind of intimacy between them. The intimacy that she’d glimpsed for a brief moment before she told him about her condition.

She pulled away, a hand on his cheek, keeping him at bay and caressing him at the same time. “Alec…”

When he looked at her, his eyes were filled with pain. And Emily almost gave up her pursuit and just gave in to his demand. She wanted to comfort him with every fiber of her being. But giving in to passion just now seemed like the wrong kind of comfort.

“Why do you hate her so?” she whispered. She knew why from what his mother had told her. But she wanted to hear his version of events. His side of the story. “What has she done?”

With a groan, he pulled away, stalking toward the bed, then back again. His eyes wild, he ran a hand through his hair, then clutched it. “Nothing,” he finally said between his teeth. He dropped his hand and prowled away from her. “Absolutely nothing. When my father berated me for every little mistake, when he called me names and threw empty wine bottles at me, when he beat me for any perceived slight, do you know what she did? Absolutely nothing.” He turned back, his gaze burning with fire, his voice crackling like a whip with every word. “And I still loved her. I curled up next to her when she cried, I hugged her whenever she was sad, I cried and yelled for him not to hurt her, although I was too small to make him stop. And did she do the same? No.”

Emily’s heart squeezed at the pain in his eyes. She imagined her husband as a little defenseless boy, under attack by a violent man twice his size—perhaps more—and nobody rushing to his side to protect him, to comfort him. And then her heart broke.

“No.” She shook her head, refusing to believe a mother could have done that. There had been pain in the duchess’s eyes. Perhaps, the duke kept the mother and son apart. “It was so long ago. How can you know that she didn’t try to protect you? How do you know your memories are not warped?”

He smiled coldly, a smile Emily wished she’d never seen, a smile that sent shivers down her spine. “Because I remember quite clearly the morning I woke up and she was no longer there. I remember my father beating me, kicking me, telling me I was the reason she was gone. I remember crying myself to sleep begging for my mother to come back, to take me with her.” He looked away, his gaze distant, an eerie calmness in his voice. “I had a trunk that I took to school every year. I collected all my belongings, packed them up, and stored the trunk by the window. Then I would climb atop the trunk and gaze out of the window, waiting for her to return. For me. But that day never came.” He turned to her then, his features hard, and so was his voice. “So, you ask me what she did for me? Nothing. The only thing she ever did was for herself. She sold herself to a duke for the fortune and a title. She gave him a son and once she’d had enough of my father and me, she left.”

His gaze was full of anger and pain. His hands were fisted by his side, and his body coiled to jump at any moment. He was like an injured animal ready to attack. But unlike his mother, who had been afraid of her husband, Emily knew he’d never physically hurt her.

She walked up to him until she was only inches away and pressed a palm against his cheek. He twitched and looked at her with his questioning eyes. She framed his face with her palms and lowered his forehead to hers. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I am sorry for everything you’ve gone through.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. He circled his arms around her waist and drew her closer, his nose burrowing in the crook of her shoulder.

She ran soothing circles over his back and shoulders, wishing she could take his pain away. All this time, he’d lived with the firm belief that both his parents hated him. That nobody in the world loved him, and that he was worthless beyond his title. No wonder he was like a wounded animal. No wonder he resorted to drinking and vice. “I spoke to your mother today,” she revealed quietly. He immediately tensed again. “And she told me that she was beaten every day. She told me he would have killed her if she didn’t run, if she took you with her.” He let out a scoff, but she continued, “How would you feel if she’d chosen to stay and then he’d killed her?”

He pulled away, enough to look her in the eyes. “I’d feel as though I was worth protecting.”

“Would you?” She shook her head, rejecting his words. And at the same time, her heart broke from the conviction in his voice. “Because knowing you, I don’t think you would. You’d feel guilt. You’d feel responsible for her death. You’d feel even worse than you feel today because she’d be dead. And you would not be able to tell her how it made you feel when she left you. Because she wouldn’t be here. She would have left you forever. This way, she had an opportunity to come back to you.”

He disengaged from her and took a step back. “You are defending her?”

“I am just offering another perspective.”

He took another step back and raised a staying hand. “Tell me this, if your father had been an abusive jackal, if he hurt you, your sisters, and your little brother, but you the most. Would you have run away and left them behind? Left them with the angry despot who now had double the reasons to be ruthless?”

She swallowed. “I can’t… I can’t tell you that. I haven’t been in that situation, and unless I had—“

“Well, let me tell you.” He started pacing again. “You wouldn’t. I know you. You came to me, a man you didn’t know, a man you’d only heard ugly rumors about, to save your family. You sheltered them from me, poured all my whisky away, and faced my wrath, so I wouldn’t frighten them. You did everything in your power to make certain the child you carry wouldn’t end up a bastard. You would never leave your family behind. You would stay and protect them forever. Even if your own life was in danger.”

Emily’s stomach flipped inside her as her pulse quickened. Was there a note of forgiveness in his tone? He resented her for lying to him. He was hurt. But at least he understood why she did it.

“If my life was in danger…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if I would have stayed. But I would have found a way to take them with me.”

Alec nodded. “And that’s the answer I knew you’d give me. And that’s all I need to know about my mother.”

“I am not saying that you should forgive her,” she said quietly.

He paused and faced her fully. “What are you saying then?”

“I am saying that at least in this situation, you have the ability to talk to her. To ask her. To try and understand her. Not just for her sake. For yours. You’ve been carrying this anger toward her for so long, it almost crushed you. You can ignore her all you want after that. But you have an opportunity to find peace. If I were you… I’d take it.”

Alec stepped toward her and grabbed her gently but firmly by the upper arms, his fingers caressing her skin. “I have already found my peace,” he whispered hoarsely before planting a kiss on her lips. “Right here.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tyrone didn’t want to go to the Gage ball.

For one thing, he despised the man. The viscount had the ego of a duke, the reputation of a rake, and a complete disregard for society's rules. One might say he was exactly like Tyrone… except he had a loving family, including a wife he openly doted on—who was an actress by the way—talk about courting a scandal. Quite literally.